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KINNIKINIC 



**~ 







KINNIKINIC 



A BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE 



BY 



CLARA TREADWAY WEIR 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
HAROLD SICHEL 




NEW YORK 

IVAN SOMERVILLE & CO. 

1907 







- 

DEC 13 \9Q7 


P6 3 54 5 


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KXc. no. 
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, B. ' 


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COPYRIGHT I907 
by Ivan Somerville & Co. 



THE VILLAGE PRESS 



/ dedicate this book to one 
Who represents to me^ 

In all its varied meanings 
Just what a man should be. 

TO 

MY HUSBAND 

THOMAS WEIR 



CONTENTS 



Kinnikinic 

Barbara . 

A Pantomime 

Marigolds 

A Valentine 

The Difference 

The Blue Danube Waltz . 

The Circus Parade 

The Night Before Christmas 

A Love Song 

The Undertone 

Our Emblem 

With Little Socks to a Friend 

The Way 

Uncut Leaves 

Good Night 

Beware 

A Picture of the Venetian Sea 

Writted to Mrs. W. R. W. 

In Memory of Helen Chain 

I am the Way 

A Birthday Wish . 

To My Friend 

White Clover 

The Reason Why 

The Twilight Hour 



The Mill at Rest . 






60 


He Knoweth Best 






61 


Easter Lilies 






62 


Violets 






■ 64 


A Clear Case 






65 


Old Love Letters 






6/ 


Solicitude 






68 


To My Guest 






. 69 


Christmas Carol . 






70 


Thanksgiving 






7 2 


My Prayer 






73 


The Old and the New- 






74 


Colorado 






76 


In a Bucket 






78 


The Song of Silver 






81 


Charity 






82 


The Deserted Claim 






83 


Prosperity 






85 


In His Name 






88 


The Robins 






9i 


Camping Out 






92 


Compensation 






95 


Ultima Thulc 






97 


At Tomichi 






99 


Some One's Servant Girl 






100 


Absence 






102 


When I Mean to Marry 






103 


Never Mind 






104 



My Autograph 
There's a Way 
Water Lilies 








iob 
107 
108 


The Sunny Side 








109 


Fruition Day 
Homely Cheer 
Sunshine 








1 10 
. 112 
• 114 


The Fireman 








. 115 


Trifles 








• JI 7 


Home 








. 118 



KINNIKINIC 




" BARBARA." 



KINNIKINIC 

BEAR BERRY 

IT grows not on the mountain peaks, 
Where snows eternal shine ; 
It springs not in the valley — 
This ever-living vine ; 
But just midway it has its birth, 

And closely clings to mother earth. 

It spreads its gray, green mantle 
O'er the middle mountain waste ; 

And makes cheerful with its presence, 
Full many a dreary place. 

It thrives on Nature's scant supply 
And nothing can its touch defy. 

Storms have no power, beneath dull skies 

Its scarlet berries shine ; 
Frost touches, but it injures not 

This hardy Western vine ; 
And steadfastly it gleams and glows 

Beneath the drifts of winter's snows. 



KINNIKINIC 

The Indians seek its leaves to smoke 

Within their pipes of peace, 
And from their tepees issues forth 

Its breath on ministries, 
They gather it from off" the sod 

As incense to their unknown God. 

Go forth, my little book, and take 

Ensample from the vine ; 
And though thou can'st not on the heights 

Of heaven-born genius shine, 
Although wings are denied to thee, 

Fall not below my hopes of thee. 

Be thou content midway to dwell 

Upon the mountains high ; 
Give freely what thou hast to give 

To weary passers-bv ; 
Send ever forth a kindly ray 

To cheer, therewith, some cloudy dav. 

And thus shalt thou requite to me 

All that I ask or hope ; 
Thy mission thus shall be fulfilled 

Upon the Western slope ; 
And by thy side full close entwine 

Kinnikinic, thv sister vine. 



'4 




• 




" Gown after gown of that long treasure store 
Was paraded the length of the old attic floor. " 



BARBARA 

SUCH a sweet girl was Barbara, merry and free 

And loving and winsome at eighteen was she; 

But the one cloud that hung o'er her young life, alas! 

Was the saintly perfection of Grandmother Bass; 

Her mother and aunts had in council most wise 

Considered her figure, her color, and size, 

And concluded, although in a crowd she might pass, 

Still she was not at all like her Grandmother Bass. 

"My dear," sighed her mother, "I sorrow to see 
That you have in your nature so much levity; 
Your dignity's lacking — it doesn't seem right 
For a girl to be laughing from morning till night, 
And your flirting, and dancing, and lovers," she said, 
"Dear Barbara, drive me quite out of my head. 
I wish, I do wish, and I can't let it pass, 
That you were just a little like Grandmother Bass." 

Poor Barbara! All of her life was so new, 

Every flower was glistening with sunshine and dew, 

The whole world ran over with perfume and light, 

Not a song-bird of spring was more filled with delight, 

And to laugh and to sing was her nature, alas! 

Though such things were not told of her Gramdmother Bass. 

Well, her small social world on one bright autumn day 

Was thrown into commotion, and this was the way. 



15 



BARBARA 

Invitations were out for a fancy dress fair, 

And the popular question was, "What shall you wear?" 

Now up in the attic, sweet Barbara knew 

There was clothing, that had not been open to view 

For the last sixty years, and she thought in despair 

How fine it would be if she only could wear 

Some costume, there carefully treasured and hid 

In the old packing-box, with the camphor wood lid. 

But what would mother say? She feared that she knew; 

Yet she still persevered with her object in view. 

A reluctant permission at last was obtained 

And she flew to her work, with this victory gained. 

Quickly then were upturned from their long resting-places 

Those quaintly made garments of brocade and laces 

That diffused an aroma, peculiar and old 

From the roses and lavender pressed in each fold. 

She clad her young figure, so full yet so slight, 

In one dress then another in girlish delight, 

And gown after gown of that long treasured store 

Was paraded the length of the old attic floor; 

But the one that at last found most grace in her sight 

Was of soft silken tissue, striped scarlet and white. 

There were only four breadths in the skirt, I believe, 

For the fulness was all in the mutton-leg sleeve. 

The corsage was short and exceedingly low, 

As the fashion demanded a long time ago, 

And was trimmed in profusion with rich, dainty lace; 

How it fitted her figure and suited her face! 

There were white satin slippers, with high heels of red, 

And a quaint cap of lace to be worn on the head, 

And a bag for the arm, — it was once called a pocket — 

Of course she peeped in it the moment she got it! 

16 







" This evening, surrounded by simpering gallants." 



BARBARA 

What is this ? An old letter — why yes, that is pat — 

Folded up in the shape of a loyal cocked hat, 

And addressed, in the primmest of writing e'er seen, 

To her grandmother's maiden name, Barbara Dean. 

Should she read it? She held with a tremulous hold 

This strange looking letter, so yellow and old, 

Whose owner had many long years been at rest — 

If she stood here just now, would she be much distressed 

At the thought of her granddaughter's daring to wear 

Her respectable robe, to a fancy dress fair? 

And a vision, that well by description she knew, 
Of her stern, faultless grandmother, rose to her view. 
With a shiver of dread and her heart beating fast, 
She unfolded and read that small note from the past. 
'Twas a love letter, written in jealous despair, 
And a picture was drawn of her grandmother there 
That was not half so saintly as those she had known, 
For it surely depicted some faults like her own. 

Thus it ran: "Mistress Barbara, making so bold 

By the love that I bear you — your promise I hold — 

I would mention some things that unseemly appear, 

Though I risk your displeasure, dear lady, I fear. 

This evening, surrounded by simpering gallants, 

I have failed to secure your fair hand for one dance; 

While the nosegay you carry, the songs you have sung, 

I believe are in honor of Philip De Young. 

Your caprice and your coquetry seem indiscreet 

To the man who has laid his true heart at your feet; 

I am not of a jealous or censuring mind, 

But your conduct to-night I deem very unkind. 

Show repentance, I pray, e'er the evening doth pass, 

To your unhappy lover — John Benjamin Bass." 



! 7 



BARBARA 

Had the heavens come down? Was she fully awake? 

It seemed that there must be some dreadful mistake; 

For the saint who had beamed o'er her wayward young life 

As a paragon mother, a model, true wife, 

By the note that she held, 'twas conclusively shown, 

Had possessed in her youth many faults like her own. 

That night at the fair, in her old fashioned gown, 

Dear Barbara turned half the heads in the town; 

But with womanly sweetness she afterwards read 

The letter she held to her own lover Fred, 

And she said, "If you'll let my own shortcomings pass, 

Who knows? — I may yet grow like Grandmother Bass." 

But the tongues of her household were stayed, sure and fast, 

And the ghost of her grandmother rested at last; 

Yet she thought every time that she looked in the glass 

Of her chances of growing like Grandmother Bass. 

Oh, the stream at its fountain must babble and sing, 
Reflecting the beauty of blossoming spring — 
Will gurgle and laugh, all untrammelled and free 
Ere it swells to a river and sweeps to the sea. 



18 




^s 









r 



On which a third hand came to place 
A slender diamond ring." 



A PANTOMIME 

THE streets were filled with passers-by, 

The summer sun sank down 
With slanting beam and mellow ray, 

Behind the busy town; 
Across the street from where I sat, 

A window, open wide, 
Was partly draped by curtains 

Sweeping back on either side; 

And thus the window sill appeared 

All broad and white between, 
And resting kindly on its edge 

A pair of hands was seen; 
A pair of quite uneven hands 

If balanced in a scale, 
For one was very muscular, 

The other very frail. 

But, judging by the sequel, 

I concluded that, of course, 
The smaller of the hands I saw 

Had most magnetic force; 
Because the large and sunburned one 

Had such an easy way 
Of ever moving near it, 

As it on the window lay. 



19 



A PANTOMIME 

They touched — of course it was by chance, 

And done with easv grace; 
The little hand slid coyly back 

And hid beneath the lace; 
Then peeping out, as though to say 

That must not happen more, 
It looked just twice as tempting 

As it had done before. 

So, after much of skirmishing, 

Advancing, and retreat, 
The two in some peculiar way 

Again had chanced to meet, 
This time with easy confidence 

The brown hand held the white, 
And clasping it about so close 

It hid it from my sight, 

Except one finger, which appeared 

All fair and tapering, 
On which a third hand came to place 

A slender diamond ring. 
The sun had long since hidden 

Behind the western trees; 
The curtains o'er the two clasped hands 

Moved idly in the breeze. 

I had seen the old, old story told 

In many and many a way: 
By eyes, to eyes that spoke again, 

And in Shakspearian play; 



20 



A PANTOMIME 

But never yet had I beheld 

A tableau half as fine 
As this, enacted o'er the way 

In living pantomime. 

God bless you, hands! Hold fast and true 

Through all the coming years, 
Clasping in love and sympathy 

Through all your smiles and tears; 
And when you ford the river 

Running cold and dark and still, 
Clasp you each other just as close 

As now upon the sill. 



21 



MARIGOLDS 

TRANSFIXED by some familiar glow, 

Upon the pavement's crowded space 
I pause, with lingering foot and slow, 

As though I saw a well-known face: 
A blending of deep, rich maroon, 

Orange and yellow, fold on fold, 
Amid the florist's window blooms 

A mass of velvet marigold. 

I mind me, when a child, it grew 

Within my mother's garden plot, 
And all the long, bright summer through 

It throve, although I loved it not; 
But now, the memories it brings 

Of those dear hands, that gave it care, 
A host of sweet forgotten things 

Cluster about and make it fair. 

The dainty Boston beauty wreathed 

Her drooping sprays beside the wall, 
And double damask roses breathed 

Delicious fragrance over all, 
And southern wood, and fair sweet peas 

Were there within her garden fold, 
But still she treasured more than these 

The dear, old-fashioned marigold. 



22 



MARIGOLDS 

How often at the evening time, 

Having transgressed the well-known rule, 
And pale, faint stars began to shine 

Ere I came loitering home from school, 
That heavy, pungent odor bore 

A deep foreboding to my soul, 
The stern reproof which was in store 

Was whispered by the marigold. 

Ah mother dear, if I could come, 

Confessing failings, great and small, 
And find you waiting me at home 

When evening shades begin to fall, 
How would I greet with heart elate 

And joy and tenderness untold, 
That which now speaks of heaven's gate — 

Your life-long friend — the marigold! 



23 



A VALENTINE 

ON this day in all its fleetness 
Send I thee, in its completeness, 
Love; which is life's truest wine: 
Treasure it, dear Valentine. 

For the day with joy or sorrow 
Giveth place unto tomorrow: 
Cling to love, while it is thine: 
It shall bless thee, Valentine. 

If our hearts be wed together, 
Earth can hold no stormy weather; 
Sheltered by this love divine 

Heaven is ours, dear Valentine. 

Give some sign or send a token, 
If the words my heart has spoken, 
Find an answering chord in thine: 
Send and bless your Valentine. 



24 



THE DIFFERENCE 

THEY stood at the pasture bars, 

While the full moon o'er the sea 
Of billowy grass and waving grain 

Rose bright and solemnly; 
And the crickets at their feet 

Sang soft their merry strain, 
And he said, "The dew is falling, sweet, 

And I must not remain. 

" But the time is drawing near 

When I'll never need to go; 

Are you happy in the thought, dear, 

That God has willed it so?" 
And the dew that kissed the rose 

And the pansies sweet and dim, 
Could never shine so softly bright 

As the eyes that answered him. 

That hour at the farm-house door, 

With a kerchief o'er his head, 
Impatiently the good man stood 

While to his wife he said: 
"The dew is falling heavily, 

And Margery still is out; 
Young people nowadays don't seem 

To know what they're about." 



25 



THE DIFFERENCE 

"Reuben," a soft voice whispered 
While a hand stole through his arm, 
"You do not think the same to-night 

You did at father's farm; 
Can't you remember, husband, 

When we stayed out just so?" 
But he drew the kerchief o'er his head, 

And stoutly answered, "No." 

" Don't you remember, Reuben, 

When the moon hung full and low, 
How long it took to say good-night?" 

And still he answered "No!" 
"Perhaps I do," he said at last, 

"But, Roxy, it is strange 
How, after years and years go by 

People's ideas change." 

"Ah, true indeed!" she murmured, 

As she smoothed her silver hair, 
And a tear stole softly down the cheek 

Faded with time and care. 
"Now, Roxy, little woman 

Pray do not take offence; 
The love is better, stronger far, 

That comes with common sense." 



26 



THE BLUE DANUBE WALTZ 

I CANNOT hear the Danube played 

Without a little sigh 
Of happiness and thankfulness 

For pleasures long gone by; 
And memories come trooping 

Like a cloud of butterflies, 
And with their bright, ethereal wings 

They fill the earth and skies. 

Oh, polished floors and brilliant lights, 

And flowers so deadly sweet! 
You floated on a cloud of bliss 

Unconscious of your feet, 
Although your feet were neatly clad 

In just one dainty hue — 
Stockings and slippers quite complete 

In yellow, pink or blue; 

Your gown of organdie or tulle 

Bound at your girlish waist 
With yards and yards of ribbon sash 

Twined with cascaded lace; 
And then the curls, the wealth of curls 

So fluffy and so bright, 
One could not think they had been rolled 

On lead or cloth at night, 



THE BLUE DANUBE WALTZ 

Unless one's self had been the one 

To find there was no fun 
In going to sleep a dozen times 

Before you got them done. 
And then the waltz, the German waltz, 

(There was no two-step then) 
Was called reverse, you circled on 

Then circled back again. 

We danced with ' Daisey,' 'Newt' and 'Ed' 

Our programs always filled; 
We never sat a single dance, 

We could not if we willed! 
Ah, where are all the dear old chums 

The fair girls and their beaux? 
I fear at dances nowadays 

They sit along in rows 

And watch their children two-step, 

As they circle all about; 
It is too much work to dance, when you 

Are middle-aged and stout! 
And some who were the gayest, 

And some who were the best, 
Have laid aside life's joys and cares 

And entered into rest. 

And still, thou dear Blue Danube waltz, 

Thy praises shall be sung, 
For making pleasure more complete 

When life and joys were young. 



28 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

ROUND, eager eyes, blue, black and gray, 

All anxiously await; 
The circus soon will pass this way, 

The children are elate. 
One small girl, with her stocking down, 

Blue-eyed and motherly, 
Leads by a toddling little one, 

And pipes up cheerily: 

"Oh, there, it's coming! Don't you hear 

The bugle and the drum ? 
In seems we've waited here a year- 

Come, baby, can't you run? 
Keep on your bonnet; you'll get tanned. 

Say, Tom, don't get ahead! 
Take hold of baby's other hand; 

You know what mamma said. 

"Just hear the music! There they come, 

All trimmed with red and gold; 
Let's count the cages, one by one ; 

What do you think they hold? 
Yes; very likely, bears and things; 

Just like the pictures there, 
And birds with pretty tails and wings ; 

Look, brother! I declare! 



29 



THE CIRCUS PARADE 

"There comes the elephant! Oh, dear, 

How large he is, and stout! 
Be careful, Tom; don't go too near, 

Do mind what you're about! 
And that's the music wagon, rolled 

So lovely; look and see; 
It's really made of solid gold, 

As splendid as can be. 

"That lady looks just like a queen, 

All dressed in gold and blue. 
(When I'm a woman grown, I mean 

To join a circus, too.) 
Yes, that's a lion; see him turn 

His head from side to side; 
I wonder if he had to learn 

To sit up there and ride. 

"If he should jump this way and come, 

Whatever should I do? 
Baby's so fat I couldn't run, 

He'd have to eat us two. 
Hush, don't you cry, now baby dear, 

You silly little thing! 
He couldn't get you; don't you see 

He's fastened with a string? 

"Here come the clowns; what funny men! 

These horses are the last. 
Ma said we couldn't follow them, 

And now they're all gone past. 
Where's Tom, my brother, Tommy Brown? 

He's gone and run away. 
I wish a circus came to town 

And passed here every day !" 

30 



THE NIGHT BEFORE 
CHRISTiMAS 

THERE'S a mist of snow in the air, 
And the crash of sleigh-bells sweet, 
And bright eyes sparkle and people smile, 
As the crowds press by in the street; 
There is expectation everywhere, 
And the Christmas spirit is in the air. 

There are parcels of every size 

And known and unknown shape, 

Stuffed into pockets from prying eyes, 

Held beneath ulster and cape. 

The rich and the poor on one level are met, 

For the holiday no one on earth can forget. 

Three men at a corner stood 

In the brilliant glare of the street, 

Rough and noisy, in evil mood; 

They hear a small voice sweet, 

"Please, do you know Mr. Santa Claus? 

I wanted to find him because — because — 



3 1 



THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

"My papa has gone to Heaven, 
And mamma is sick in bed. 
My sister says there's no Santa Claus, 
But I don't mind what she said, 
For papa told me — oh, long ago — 
And surely my papa ought to know." 

And there in the sleet and snow 

Stood a boy of three or over, 

No wrap or coat the baby form 

And the golden head to cover; 

And the pleading eyes in their swimming 

tears 
Proclaimed the conflict of hopes and fears. 

"We have moved to another place, 
Where the alley is dark, you see; 
So Santa Claus never might find us out 
With no one to tell him but me, 
And I am so little and not much old, 
So wet and hungry, and oh, so cold!" 

The three rough men looked down 

As the sweet voice made a pause, 

Said one in rather a husky voice: 

"I used to know Santa Claus; 

I'll tell him tonight, if I see him come, 

To bring some things to you, little one." 



3 2 



THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

And he takes the baby up, 

And he thinks of his own at home, 

With more of the father's love at heart 

Than he ever before has known; 

And he says: "Now what would you have 

him bring, 
If you could ask him for anything?" 

There's a joyful, trusting smile 

And a gleam in the eyes of blue: 

"Oh, I'm so glad there's a Santa Claus, 

And you know him for truly, true. 

I felt so bad and it hurted me 

To have Bess say that he wasn't he. 

"I want medicine for mamma, 

And a new warm dress for Bess, 

And anything he may leave for me, 

A candy-stick, I guess. 

He must lay it across the stocking, so 

That it can't fall out of the hole in the toe." 

Then the drowsy head droops down 
On its new-found resting place, 
And the golden hair, like an aureole, 
Surrounds the sweet, small face; 
And the heart of the man who holds 

him springs 
Out of himself toward better things. 



33 



THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 

And they carry the baby home 

And see in that wretched place 

The wish of the little one fulfilled 

Ere the dawn of the day of grace; 

And brightly the Christmas sunshine shone 

With a new surprise in that humble home. 

Ah, beautiful, childish faith, 

Believe what is pure and good! 

And who would sweep that illusion off 

From the soul of your babyhood? 

You will feel Christ's birthday more sweet 

because 
Of the services here of his Santa Claus. 



34 



A LOVE SONG 

THERE'S a band of blue ribbon, my darling, 

Which runs through the night and the day, 
Slipping quietly into the meshes of thought, 

Whatever the words I may say. 
Such a bonny bright band of blue ribbon, 

All sunshine and rain it gleams through! 
It was sent to my heart by the Father of love — 

'Tis the thought which I have, dear, of you. 



35 



THE UNDERTONE 

WE weep when we see distress, 

We grieve when we know of wrong, 
And give our strength with willingness 

To help the weak along; 
Yet, breaking through our sympathy, 

Comes some happy, glad heart song, 
Which, like a fountain of water clear, 

Can never be hidden long. 

We part with the friends we love, 

We fail in our highest aim, 
And feel that we never can rise above 

Our grief, and sorrow, and pain; 
Yet, breaking through the serious mood 

Comes the glad, clear heart refrain, 
Surprising us with its sudden light, 

Like sunshine after rain. 

From its source on the mountain top, 

'Tis the course of the stream to run 
Through many a lonely, shady spot, 

Then out into the sun, 
Dimpling and laughing joyously 

As it hastens on, and on; 
And forever glad of the sunshine bright. 

Till the sea at last is won. 



36 



OUR EMBLEM 

WHAT IT MEANS TO US 

Toast given at Spirit of Liberty Chapter of 
D. A. R. at Salt Lake City, February 22, 1907 

OUR emblem is a golden wheel, 

Banded with deepest blue; 
Each shining spoke tipped with a star, 

The distaff showing through. 
The only jewel in the world 

That money cannot buy 
Without such proof of ancestry 

As no one can deny. 

It glows on many a bosom 

In silken garments dressed, 
Of many a proud-faced daughter, 

More favored than the rest. 
They gladly do it honor, 

And give it place to shine 
In all its blue, gold beauty 

And simple, quaint design. 

It shines on many a bosom 

Of daughters, who, each day 
Must toil and strive with hand and brain, 

Upon life's weary way. 
Untold the pride and pleasure 

And honor which they feel, 
In wearing that which levels all — 

The distaff and the wheel. 



37 



OUR EMBLEM 

That emblem tells a story 

Each one can understand: 
"This woman has descended, 

From a hero of our land, 
From one of those who fought and bled, 

And died, perchance, that we 
Should reap of his great sacrifice 

A Nation's liberty." 

It tells of Washington and those 

Whom he inspired on earth; 
Of how those patriots fought and died, 

To give our land its birth; 
Starving, ill-clad, they struggled, 

Upon the land and sea, 
The god of battle granted them 

Triumphant victory. 

And now the flag we love so well 

In glorious beauty waves 
Over the land which holds and guards 

So many patriot graves. 
Their daughters wear this emblem 

And with steadfast faith they pray 
That for our Nation's honor 

We be brave and true, as they. 



38 



WITH LITTLE SOCKS TO 
A FRIEND 

IF any little stranger 

Should, on some future day, 
Come to you unexpectedly 

And have a mind to stay; 
Coming so weak and helpless, 

With small feet pink and bare, 
You'd need some little, soft, wee socks- 

And so I send a pair. 



39 



THE WAY 

HE said: "I can drink, in a social way, 
With other friends of mine, 

Then stop, whenever the word I say, 
Yes, stop sir, every time! 

I surely would never take a drop 

If I did not know just the time to stop. 

"I take a glass of it, now and then, 
It steadies my nerves, 'tis true; 

One scarcely can be a man among men 
And not do as others do. 

And I should despise myself, I think, 

If I knew that I did not dare to drink." 

So not a friend could stay the speed 
With which he pursued his way, 

That led, as other roads must lead, 
To its end, in the usual way. 

He lived, to liquor a helpless slave, 

And he fills to-day a drunkard's grave. 



40 



THE WAY 

This stopping at will, is an old, old tune, 

No easier to pursue 
Than to stop the new, young, slender moon 

From coming full when due; 
Or a loosened car on a sharp incline, 
Or a bucket, free in the shaft of a mine. 

He fills a drunkard's grave to-day, 

And it's only a single one 
Of the million graves that are yawning wide, 

For those who will surely come. 
Whose footsteps are pointing to this spot? 
They are those "who can stop when they wish 
to stop." 



41 



UNCUT LEAVES 

OH, a wonderful book is the book of life, 

Whether the binding be rich and fair 
With illuminations and gildings rife, 

On the finest vellum, thick and rare; 
Or whether the binding be poor and mean, 

Faded and cheap, and flimsy withal, 
The veriest prose that was ever seen, 

To be found for a trifle in any stall : — 
And still the discerning spirit grieves 
To know that each volume has uncut leaves. 

'Tis a wonderful work from a Master's hand, 

Where comedy, tragedy, smiles and tears 
Swiftly tread on the shining sand, 

As the scenes are shifted by passing years; 
And there from the light of day are hid 

All things beautiful, good and fair, 
In the brief enclosure, from lid to lid, 

Whatever the heart desires, is there: — 
But oh, how the spirit grieves and grieves, 
O'er the pitiful pathos of uncut leaves. 

There is fair Success with her beckoning hand, 
And Health with her rosy and laughing face, 

There is home, and peace, and a smiling land 
Where heart-ache never can find a place. 

There are beautiful children between the leaves 

42 



UNCUT LEAVES 

The crowning glory of motherhood; 
And a wealth of love for each heart that grieves, 

A love that is never misunderstood: — 
Yet forever the watchful spirit grieves 
O'er the mystery here of our uncut leaves. 

For every volume, whate'er it be, 

Has leaves which never shall see the light, 
Their gracious beauty and symmetry 

Are never disclosed to the longing sight; 
And lives are clouded, and eyes are dim, 

For lack of that which is near to all; 
With those uncut leaves they are folded in, 

And they cannot respond to prayer or call: — 
And throughout life the spirit grieves 
For only one glimpse of those uncut leaves. 

When shall we see that the Author's hand 

Which fashioned the volume we hold in fee, 
With a wisdom we cannot understand, 

Above and beyond our mastery — 
Cuts with a loving care each leaf, 

Never forgetting the end in view, 
Fills out each story, however brief, 

With a kind intent and a purpose true: — 
And who can doubt that the Author grieves 
When we question his love by our uncut leaves ? 



43 



GOOD NIGHT 

"Good night," he said, and yet delayed 
With lingering step and slow; 

"Good night," he said, and took her hand 
And felt constrained to go, 

Yet lounged upon the banister 

And twirled his hat and looked at her. 

"Good night," she said, and gave her hand 

In a reluctant way, 
With no dislike for shaking hands, 

Yet wishing he would stay; 
And, woman-like, she half divined 
That something still was on his mind. 

" Good night," he said again, and still 

He did not really go; 
The parting time had come too soon — 

Who says "time creeps but slow?" 
He looked at her in wistful way 
And quite forgot what next to say. 



44 




:t 'Tis dangerous to look up and smile 
When faces are so near the while." 



GOOD NIGHT 

The color deepened in her face. 

She said, with sidelong glance, 
"I hope that you will call again." 

He smiled, and sighed, by chance. 
('Tis dangerous to look up and smile 
When faces are so near the while.) 

Now what could she have half divined, 

Or what had he to say, 
That made them loiter half an hour 

In such a foolish way? 
What do you think? Now, frank and true, 
I cannot make it out — can you ? 



45 



BEWARE 

DON'T rhyme, I implore you, whatever you do 
For the practical public considers as true 
Each small flight of fancy or bubble of mirth, 
And they criticise freely and crush you to earth. 
If you write of a sad heart, they very well know 
That your own that inspired it has suffered some blow; 
If you write a love poem, they think that you air, 
In this sweet, private manner, some tender affair 
That your life has been blessed with, and say 

what a shame, 
When so much has been told, that you mention no name! 
If you write of life's fortunes, its gladness or grief, 
They read, and from thence 'tis their settled belief 
'Tis some facl: that is chronicled: how could it be 
That fancy could picture what eyes did not see? 
So, friend, if you write, do not rhyme, for your life 
Will be worn by sarcasm, annoyance and strife; 
Your best friends will leave you, beyond all recall; 
So write prose, I pray, if you must write at all. 



4 6 



A PICTURE OF THE 
VENETIAN SEA 

(ACCOMPANYING A WEDDING GIFT) 

MAY thy life pure and placid be 

As shines the blue Venetian Sea, 
With tints of rose and amethyst, 

By sunlight and fair breezes kissed; 
And when the evening hour draws near 

Thy life still like that sea appear; 
When, sunlight fades from sandy bars 

Its surface gleam, all heaven and stars. 



47 



WRITTEN FOR MRS. W. R. W. 

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER 
BIRTHDAY AND WEDDING, 1895 

MANY happy returns 

Of the day you entered life! 

And many happy returns 

Of the day you became a wife! 

And may God grant to you, 

In the years that yet befall, 

To keep the blessings that you have 

And multiply them all. 



48 



IN MEMORY OF 
HELEN CHAIN 

MR. AND MRS. J. A. CHAIN, LOST ON S. S. BOKA- 
RA OFF THE COAST OF CHINA IN 189O. 

IN loving hearts a requiem 

Is breathing sad and low, 
For one who was as good and true 

As earth shall ever know; 
And tears are falling silently 

For her, who 'neath the wave 
In foreign seas, neath alien skies, 

Has found an early grave. 

"Behold the bridegroom cometh." 

The voice came in the night; 
But we know she rose to meet it 

With her lamp all trimmed and bright. 
And though upon a storm-tossed sea 

Death's angel entered in, 
We know the Christian confidence 

With which she answered him. 

Her journeyings now are over, 

Her glad bright eyes behold, 
More fair than any earthly scene, 

"The city paved with gold." 
And hand in hand with him she loved, 

Whose path had been her own, 
She passed from out the stormy night 

To the glory of God's throne. 



49 



IN MEMORY OF HELEN CHAIN 

We cannot lay her body by 

In consecrated ground, 
We cannot place the flowers she loved 

Upon her burial mound. 
Her sweet, calm face and willing hands 

Are hidden 'neath the sea; 
But let each heart that mourns her loss 

Embalm her memory. 

Upon the canvas glows and shines 

That which her brush has caught, 
Parts of the fleeting loveliness 

With which the earth is fraught. 
Her genius and her patient toil 

Have well reflected there 
That brave, true spirit which was sent 

To make this life more fair. 

And who can raise a monument 

Purer, beneath the sun, 
Than she has built in loving hearts, 

By good deeds gladly done ? 
And faithful memory and love 

Shall add, from day to day, 
A lustre which is not of earth, 

And cannot pass away. 



50 



I AM THE WAY 

SO often have I stood where diverse ways 

Led East and West, 
And pondered many weary days, 

Which road were best; 
Which one, if it were made my choice, 

Were pleasantest. 

And I have chosen, trusting my own strength, 

To follow on; 
And often, often, I have found at length 

That it was wrong, 
When all too late to remedy 

What I had done. 

But now, I leave it all to God, 

To show the path to take, 
And who so trusts upon His choice 

Can never hesitate; 
For, in the wisdom of His sight, 

There can be no mistake. 



5i 



A BIRTHDAY WISH 

TO S. E. W., D. D., ON HIS 7 I ST BIRTHDAY 
DECEMBER l8, I 



GOD bless your birthday, may His love 

Shine on this morn, 
(He blessed the world indeed, the day 

That you were born — ) 
And may the bread your hand has cast 

Upon the earth's troubled tide 
Come as refreshment back, until 

Your soul is satisfied. 



52 



TO MY FRIEND 

Christmas, 1900. 

GOD keep thee in His peace! 

The world is wide, 
And so much woe and sorrow 

may betide, 
The sweetest and most loving 

hearts that beat, 
That night and morning 

I can but repeat, 
To Him who listens and whose 

love is sure: — 
Keep these for whom I pray, dear Lord, 

Oh, keep secure, 
Within Thy peace. 



53 



WHITE CLOVER 

LOOK the world over, 
There's nothing as sweet 

As the dainty white clover 
That blooms at your feet. 

An alien in part — 

To the west scarcely known — 
It brings to my heart 

A dear vision of home. 

I see how it springs 

'Mid the tall meadow grass, 
Where the oriole sings 

And the butterflies pass; 

Where wild strawberries grow 
And pale apple-blooms fall, 

And the field daisies show 
Golden-eyed over all. 

In charming completeness 

A picture I trace, 
Where, framed by its sweetness, 

I see mother's face. 



54 



WHITE CLOVER 

Ah, dear little clover, 

Thy magic I own, 
And am still thy true lover, 

Thou symbol of home. 

For, all the world over, 
There's nothing as sweet 

As the fragrant white clover 
That blooms at your feet. 



55 



THE REASON WHY 

AFTER having seen the play, 

Six young ladies sat together, 
Talking, in a sprightly way, 

Somewhat gossip, somewhat weather, 
Dainty bits of this and that, 
Such as make up friendly chat. 

Finally they touched upon 

Last night's play, and then the star; 
Said Miss Sarah, full of fun, 

"It seems strange how actors are 
Mostly sure to rise above 
Commonplace in making love. 

"It may be an easy thing 

For a genius like Remart, 
After constant practicing, 
To grow perfect in his art. 

Girls, though, isn't it a shame 
All men cannot be the same!" 



56 



THE REASON WHY 

"Do you think so really, dear?" 

Cried one of the pretty misses; 
"Everyone goes wild, I hear, 
On the perfect way he kisses; 
But last night, I think, for one, 
It was not so finely done. 

" There is someone I can show 

Living right here all the time — 
Charley Lane, whom you all know — 
Whv, his kisses are divine! 

Sweet and lingering as can be — 
But few know of it save me!" 

"Crazy work" neglected lies, 

"Kensington" is quite forgot; 
Five young ladies scandalized — 
Have they heard aright or not? 
All intently gaze upon 
One poor blushing little one, 

Who proceeds in haste to say, 

" How I know — he and his brother, 
After having been away, 

At the depot met their mother; 
And he kissed her lovingly — 
That's the way I know, you see! 



57 



THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

WHEN adown the western skies, 
Sunlight into darkness dies, 
'Neath my window, sweet and clear, 
A fond mother's voice I hear, 
Rising soft and soothingly: 
"Hush, my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 

Few the words; they seem to me 
Perfect in simplicity; 
Well she loves the sweet refrain, 
Sings it o'er and o'er again, 
While the stars shine out on high: 
" Hush, my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 

What to her the busy town, 
What to her its smile or frown, 
Sheltered in that happy nest, 
With her babe upon her breast, 
Crooning as the moments fly: 
"Hush, my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 



58 



THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

Warned* (/eo.&Sfe/fo/r 




ofu/i/tpfo/hib (/adnea- e//es y/eam/^ei/fle/oa sweet 'and dear 




d/o/rt/moftenib/ceJt bar jRwry soft and soofmny/y 




7/us/i,/ni/ oafy,fy-fo - 6y ffus/i,mybaby,6y-io-by 



THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

WHEN adown the western skies, 
Sunlight into darkness dies, 
'Neath my window, sweet and clear, 
A fond mother's voice I hear, 
Rising soft and soothingly; 

u Hush ? my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 

Few the words; they seem to me 
Perfect in simplicity; 
Well she loves the sweet refrain, 
Sings it o'er and o'er again, 
While the stars shine out on high: 

u Hush, etc." 

What to her the busy town, 
What to her its smile or frown, 
Sheltered in that happy nest, 
With her babe upon her breast, 
Crooning as the moments fly: 

"Hush, etc." 

From my listening, selfish heart 
Worldly aim and thoughts depart, 
And a blessed, holy calm 
Falls upon my soul like balm, 
Listening to that magic cry: 

"Hush, etc." 

Earth has music sweet and strong, 
Earth has many a heavenly song; 
But can angels, in their bliss, 
Hear a sweeter song than this, 
Wafted upward to the sky: 

"Hush, etc." 



THE TWILIGHT HOUR 

From my listening, selfish heart 
Worldly aim and thoughts depart, 
And a blessed, holy calm 
Falls upon my soul like balm, 
Listening to that magic cry: 
"Hush, my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 

Earth has music sweet and strong, 
Earth has many a heavenly song; 
But can angels, in their bliss, 
Hear a sweeter song than this, 
Wafted upward to the sky: 
"Hush, my baby, by-lo-by, 
Hush, my baby, by-lo-by." 



59 



"THE MILL AT REST" 

(ON A PAINTING BY EDWIN DEAKIN) 

SILENCE seems never so profound 
As when the great mill-wheel at last 

Ceases its busy, cheerful round, 
And quietly the stream flows past; 

So still the place, the tall birch trees 

Scarce tremble in the summer breeze. 

With shining leaves, they mirrored lie 

Within the placid pool below, 
While through their tangled net the sky 

Does faintly blue and misty show. 
Meanwhile, the birds their feathers preen 
Sheltered within the leafy screen. 

Some soft, low sounds — from whence they steal 

One scarce can say, unless it be 
Bright drops from off the dripping wheel, 

Or birch bark loosening from the tree. 
Nature, indeed, has power to bless 
Within this haunt of quietness. 

The canvas fades; the master's art 
So well and cunningly has wrought, 

That it of nature seems a part, 

And, gazing, there is ne'er a thought 

By what strange necromancy we 

Behold this scene from over sea. 



60 



HE KNOWETH BEST 

MY little bird looks up at me 
With eyes of pleading misery, 
When for a season, less or more, 
Upon his cage I close the door 

And shut him in. 
He loves so well, this small bright thing, 
The freedom of his glancing wing, 
The power to choose his place of song; 
To come and go the whole day long 

Is joy to him. 

I have no means at my command, 
By which to make him understand 
The loving service I have done, 
The evil I have saved him from 

Which I can see. 
But soon, forgetting grief and wrong, 
He trills again his cheerful song, 
And waits the opening of the door, 
Which all his little joys restore 

And sets him free. 

Dear Lord, I thus would yield to Thee 
My cheerful, loving loyalty. 
Thou dost not tell the reason why 
Some heartfelt prayers Thou dost deny, 

But this is plain; 
(I to my soul sweet comfort take) 
Thy wisdom can make no mistake, 
And though I grieve, I understand, 
And clasp by faith thy loving hand, 
Which bears, I trust, my name. 

61 



EASTER LILIES 

BLOOM fair, ye lilies! Loose the bands 

Of your green prison! 
Shake out your robes with fairy hands, 

For " Christ is risen/' 

Don all your saintly vestures white, 

■ Ye symbols holy 
Of Him who rose with Easter light, 
"The meek and lowly. " 

Lift up your golden eyes to Him 

In sweet submission, 
Who, fairer and as free from sin, 

Was Hope's fruition. 

How blessed of all flowers that grow, 

Your rite performing, 
To deck His shrine with perfumed snow 

On Easter morning. 



62 



EASTER MORNING 

Yet bloom with loveliness the same 

In church or prison, 
And to each waiting heart proclaim: 

"The Lord is risen!" 

Oh, may our souls as fair as ye, 

His courts adorning, 
Join in the choral minstrelsy 

Some Easter morning. 



63 



VIOLETS 

OF all the lovely flowers that blow, 

Violets, spring violets, 
I send the sweetest ones that grow,- 

Spring's first violets. 
Woodland breath, and dainty hue; 
May they softly whisper you, 
Of my friendship warm and true, 

Sent to you by violets. 



6 4 



A CLEAR CASE 

"NO Jack, I'm not jealous; what led you to think 

I would cherish a feeling so base? 
I know you intend your remarks in good part, 

When you speak in this way to my face; 
But jealousy, Jack, is a thing I despise; 
Any man can be free from its power if he tries. 

"Your opinion is founded, I haven't a doubt, 

On my words of a moment ago. 
All I meant was, the rules of society now 

Are more lax than they should be, you know; 
And I wish that a man and a woman could see 
More alike in regard to how things ought to be. 

" I have all faith in Sarah — I know she is true, 

That she loves me I haven't a doubt; 
Still we cannot be married a year or two yet — 

She is lonely when I'm not about. 
So I wish her to go; and I tell her she may 
Keep her gentleman friends in the old, pleasant way. 

"But I don't like Rob Lane and I don't like McKay, 

And her preference falls upon them; 
I find one of them there, call whenever I may — 

I'm surprised, they're such commonplace men; 
And they never leave first when we meet there to call, 
So I do not like them, nor their manners, at all. 



65 



A CLEAR CASE 

u Then she welcomes them both in her bright, pretty way, 
Just as though — but of course I don't mind — 

She has got to do that if she keeps her old friends ; 
It is best, and I'm sure I'm resigned, 

But if I were jealous, I'd not like the way 

They hold her in waltzing, whatever you say. 

"If you did the same, now, I never should mind; 

It would seem to be proper and right. 
Yes, I'll take you to call, with much pleasure, sometime — 

I have other engagements to-night. 
Would it suit you next week, or the next, we will say? 
Or it may be as well that we don't set a day. 

" But now, as to jealousy, what I have said 

Will convince you that I am quite free 
From that passion; so Jack, you have wasted your breath, 

Old fellow, in talking to me. 
But, though I'm not jealous of Lane or McKay 
I may have to shoot one or both yet some day!" 



66 



OLD LOVE LETTERS 

SOMETIMES when I take me 

A wee little space 
And look on my life 

As it is, face to face, 
And regret all the good left undone 
And take shame for what little I do, 
Then I hie me away at the close of the day 
And read my old love letters through. 

It is not the sentiment 

Penned on each page, 
Where the paper is yellow 

The ink pale with age, 
That I hunger for now at this day 
When each love has, long since, found his own, 
And in playing life's game has forgotten my name 
In the years that have come and have flown. 

Ah, those magical letters 

A picture supply 
Of the girl I was once, 

Of that girl who was I — 
Loving-hearted and merry withal, 
With high hopes of the good she would do, 
Who looks out from each page that is yellow with age- 
When I read my old love letters through. 



67 



SOLICITUDE 

WHEN dear Dolly goes out 

On old Dobbin to ride, 
What a ravishing sight 

To my eye is presented, 
As she sits there enthroned 

In her beauty and pride, 
How my love for that pink and white 

A4aid is augmented ! 

Though Dobbin is trusty 

And Dobbin is sure, 
And in dignified state he will 

Safely uphold you, 
Ah, darling, indeed 

I should feel more secure, 
If instead of the saddle 

My arms could enfold you. 



68 



TO MY GUEST 

Enter this chamber, welcome friend, 

And may thy rest be sweet. 

Thy guardian angel thee attend 

With sweet refreshing sleep. 

Put off the day's soil for the night, 

(Thy clothing and thy cares) 

Attired in garments pure and white, 

Kneel down and say thy prayers; 

The past and future all forego, 

A quiet spirit keep, 

And thankful close thine eyes, "for so 

He giveth His beloved sleep." 



6 9 



CHRISTMAS CAROL 

THE morning stars together sang, 
The angels joined the glad refrain, 

Throughout high heaven their voices rang, 
And wafted down the anthem came 

Of peace on earth, good will this morn, 

For in the night already passed 
Lo! Christ was born. 

Join in the song ye little ones 

Who find upon the Christmas tree 

Or in your stocking, brimming full, 
Good cause for happiness and glee; 

With fresh young voices greet the morn, 

For unto you — a Christmas gift — 
Lo! Christ is born. 

Sing, dainty maidens, fair and sweet 
As apple blossoms in the spring; 

And youth, just claiming man's estate, 
With good will let your voices ring; 

join in the song of joy this morn, 

For unto you — a Christmas gift — 
Lo! Christ is born. 



7° 



CHRISTMAS CAROL 

Sing, every one on earth to-day, 

Whoe'er hath grieved or suffered pain, 

Sorrow's dark mantle falls away, 

Look up and join the sweet refrain; 

With glad accord proclaim the morn, 
For in the darkness of your night 
Lo ! Christ is born. 

He comes in gleaming robes of white, 

Calm, loving, pitiful, serene; 
Fall down before his presence bright, 

And touch the robe which has no seam; 
With grateful hearts give praise this morn, 

For unto all — a blessed gift — 
Lo! Christ is born. 



71 



THANKSGIVING 

THIS morn, O God, on lowly bended knee 
Fair Colorado lifts her heart to Thee 

In thankful praise; 
For all the blessings which the year has brought, 
For all the mercies Thy dear hand hath wrought 

In divers ways. 

We thank Thee, Lord, Thou hast preserved from fire, 
From flood, from pestilence, and famine dire 

Our much loved land; 
Kindly forgiving our unworthiness. 
Thou hast seen fit, O Lord, to hold and bless 

Within Thy hand. 

Snow-capped our mountains, bearing yellow gold, 
Smiling our plains, with fruitfulness untold, 

Healthful the breeze; 
Do Thou, most kindly, graciously draw near, 
List, while Thy loving, waiting children here, 

Bless Thee for these. 

Nothing we ask, in Thee we put our trust. 
Thou knowest, Father, what is best for us; 

Thy hand alway 
Tempers the wind, and whatsoe'er betide 
Will bring again a sweet, well-satisfied 

Thanksgiving Day. 



72 



MY PRAYER 

I DO not ask that God shall send 

New gifts from day to day, 
Just that the dear familiar ones 

He will not take away ; 
Contentment, friends, and daily bread, 

And His continued care, 
Seem very much for me to ask 

When seeking God in prayer, 



73 



THE OLD AND THE NEW 

WRITTEN FOR LAST SERVICE IN OLD PRESBY- 
TERIAN CHURCH, CORNER SECOND SOUTH AND 
SECOND EAST STREETS. SALT LAKE CITY, APRIL 

16, 1905. 

WE are leaving the old church home to-day ; 

From its sheltering roof we are going away, 

With its clinging memories, sweet and dear, 

Which have stronger grown with each passing year. 

Prayers have gone up from this holy place, 

In the hours of need, to the throne of Grace. 

Prayers have been answered, full and free, 

By our Father who giveth willingly. 

Here has baptismal water shed 

Its blessings on many a childish head. 

Here have the youths and maidens come 

To learn the way to the Heavenly home. 

And many, before this altar old, 

Have entered the Master's earthly fold. 

Lovers have plighted their vows for life, 

And have left its portals as man and wife. 

Here, on many a morning fair, 

Lilies have sweetened the Easter air, 

And year by year have its Christmas joys 

Brightened the lives of the girls and boys. 

Here have the blessed words been read 

From the Holy Book o'er our sainted dead ; 



74 



THE OLD AND THE NEW 

And the world has wept with our sorrow sore, 
With the little white hearse at the old church door. 
These are the thoughts which hallow to-day 
The place from which we are going away. 

This is the old. We go forth to the new, 
A household of faith which is tried and true, 
Pastor and people whose hopes are one; 
Where we are lead, we are following on; 
From one tent in the wilderness to-day 
We pass to another; God leads the way. 
The ark of his Covenant still must rest 
Just where, in his wisdom, it seemeth best. 
The harvest is white which we go to claim, 
With courage and strengthen our Master's name. 



75 



COLORADO 

NO lovelier maiden does the sun 

In all his course look down upon 

From cloudless skies of ether blue, 

With loving eye, steadfast and true, 

Charmed by her beauty and her grace, 

He smiles forever on her face. 

Of sister States the youngest one, 

Her birth-place near the setting sun, 

Our God has held her in His care, 

And yearly she has grown more fair. 

Well taught in church and school is she 

To fill her place with dignity. 

A quiet taste is in her gown 

Of springtime green or autumn brown, 

Brilliant and beautiful and sweet 

The wild flowers spring beneath her feet. 

No maiden can successful vie 

With her substantial legacy; 

Yet year by year to industry 

She gives her young hands willingly. 

Her fertile lands yield rich increase, 

Her manufactures never cease; 

And snow-capped mountains, strong and old, 

Contain her riches manifold, 



76 



COLORADO 

While flocks and herds on either hand, 
In mountain parks, on prairie land, 
Improve and richly multiply, 
And all the Eastern world defy. 

God's blessing on our fair young State, 
For her may future glory wait, 
And still her air give life and health, 
And still her traffic teem with wealth, 
And down the dim, far-coming days, 
Ring fair dear Colorado's praise. 



77 



IN A BUCKET 

WAS she really flirtatious? Indeed, I should say, 

Or appearances strangely belied her to me ; 
With a mood like a dress for each part of the day, 

And as charming in each as a woman could be. 
Well, I held out at first — I was loath to confess 

I was really in love with a girl of that style ; 
And then, I'd a partial engagement with Bess, 

Whom I thought I would marry yet, after a while. 

With that half understanding, I didn't feel free 

To make love, though I did, to another just then ; 
One can't tell what he'll do till the time comes, you see- 

I thought I was quite the most steadfast of men. 
Then she wouldn't believe me, whatever I said, 

And I grew more in earnest to prove it was true ; 
But I had not much chance to convince her, for Ned 

And her mother and sister went everywhere, too. 

When I saw where my footsteps were tending, I tried, 

Conscientiously tried, to keep out of their way 
Until I just felt I must see her; beside, 

She showed no concern — I could go or could stay. 
No, I'm not going to rave, you know all I could say, 

You've been there yourself, I presume, in your time ; 
I was just good for nothing when she was away, 

And the third one along looked to me like design. 

78 




For protection, I just put my arm round her waist. 



IN A BUCKET 

Till one day at Ruby, that queer little camp, 

On the side of the mountain so near to the snow, 
We all started out for our usual tramp 

Without any design as to where we would go ; 
Till we met with a friend at the Forest Queen mine, 

Who asked us to go down the shaft to explore 
The large excavation — he came just in time, 

And the ladies were sure that a treat was in store. 

We went down in the bucket (we could have gone in 

Through the tunnel, I learned later on in the day); 
But now was the time for my luck to begin — 

I was suited, indeed, going down in that way, 
Well, our friend and mamma were the first ones who went, 

Then Miss Fannie and Ned followed next on the list, 
Leaving us two alone for the swift, dark descent ; 

Fate sent me that chance, I shall ever insist. 

Down into the shaft, while the light faded out, 

And the damp air arose with such swift chilly haste 
That she really was frightened, there wasn't a doubt ; 

For protection, I just put my arm round her waist. 
How she clung to me, frightened, I'll never forget; 

All her teasing and nonsense for once were laid by. 
She'd have clung just the same to a stranger, and yet 

You'll believe me, of course, I was glad it was I. 

To our rapid descent came a slackening speed, 

And we hung there midway, in the damp, chilly air, 

To this day I don't know what the cause was — indeed, 
I was suited so well that I really don't care, 



79 



IN A BUCKET 

She was trembling with terror — her dear, saucy head 
Smothered down on my shoulder so near to my face, 

I can't just remember the words that I said; 
However, I think that they suited the case. 

If she loved me, I'd save her, or something like that ; 

She whispered she did, as she clung by my side. 
You think that I had the advantage ? That's pat, 

And so perfectly so that it can't be denied. 
Then down to the station the bucket sped fast, 

As though it had waited this very result, 
And we reached her distracted relations at last, 

Where the pale candles shone on the nervous tumult. 

What had been the matter ? How were we detained ? 

Were we safe? Were we hurt? Should we go? Should 
we stay? 
I said that I thought it was best we remained, 

But my darling seemed quiet the rest of the day, 
And so all will end as I wish. Give me joy ! 

Though she says she was jesting, I hold her secure ; 
I will speak for you now as my best man, old boy, 

For I'll need you some time pretty soon, I am sure. 



80 



THE SONG OF SILVER 

From the heart of the Rockies I come, 

Wakened up, in my deep silent home, 

From my sleep of the centuries there, 

By the drill and the glare 

Of brilliant explosions in air. 

I have been in the heart of the furnace entombed. 

There was that, in my heart, that could not be consumed. 

I shall live when the hands that evoke me to-day 

With their cunning and strength shall have long passed 

away. 
One pure flake, from the store house of nature I come, 
From " The Rockies" — my home. 



CHARITY 

THE WATER SYSTEM OF DENVER IN 1 883 WAS THE HOLLY 
SYSTEM AND USUALLY REFERRED TO AS "THE HOLLY." 

AS you sit by the fire discussing together 
The many discomforts of very cold weather ; 
How house-plants are frosted, although fires shine, 
And " The Holly " is useless the most of the time ; 
How shopping's suspended by cold and by storm, 
And one's time nearly taken to keep one's self warm ; 
While mentioning trials you have to endure, 
For a moment desist — and remember the poor ! 

Ah, think of the people both homeless and cold, 
Whose misery and suffering cannot be told ; 
Of mothers who have not a morsel of food 
Or a blanket to wrap up their cold, starving brood ; 
Of the tents they inhabit, with feet cold and bare — 
And to those who have nothing, give what you can spare. 
Think, in merciful kindness, of what they endure, 
And, forgetting small trials, remember the poor. 

Are you Christians ? You know, then, 'tis Christ that 

you feed 
When you minister unto the sufferer's need ; 
It is Christ that you clothe, 'tis with him that you share 
The bounty He gives and intrusts to your care. 
Can you ask " daily bread " from the bountiful One 
When you know what He gives you to do is undone ? 
Ah, when Mercy and Charity knock at your door, 
It is Christ that entreats you, " Remember the poor." 



82 



M 






„« 






\*i 



m 



"A roofless cabin, of logs rough hewn. 



THE DESERTED CLAIM 

UP where the snow shines pure and white 

On the peaks that point to the summer sky, 
Up in the gulch by the evening light 

I saw, as we travelled slowly by, 
A claim deserted and left alone, 

A shaft half sunk in the mountain side, 
A roofless cabin, of logs rough hewn, 

Where some one had labored till hope had died. 

And later on, when our camp was made 

And the white tents pitched for another night, 
While the pine-trees weirdly tossed and swayed 

In the cheerful glow of our camp-fire light ; 
When merry voices rang on the air, 

And smiling faces flashed in and out ; 
I thought of that cabin, rude and bare, 

Of its owner, who labored in hope and doubt. 

He had come, perhaps, from some Eastern home, 

For speedy wealth, to the Western clime, 
And homesick and weary, and all alone, 

He had faithfully toiled for some friendly sign. 
Cold moans the wind through the canon deep, 

And the coyote cries through the night hours drear 
There are unknown footsteps that softly creep, 

And the voice of the burro is kindly cheer. 



83 



THE DESERTED CLAIM 

Still he dreamed as others had done before — 

As others shall do in the days to come — 
Of finding wealth in unbounded store, 

And joyfully bearing his treasure home ; 
Dame Fortune is chary when all is told, 

Her smiles are the hardest on earth to gain, 
And where one is favored with shining gold 

A thousand others may toil in vain. 

Thus I sit and muse in the camp-fire glow, 

While the welcome evening meal is spread, 
And the sound of the river comes soft and low, 

And the stars shine brilliantly overhead ; 
For my heart is saddened as day by day 

We pass in sunshine or dripping rain, 
That frequent road-mark upon our way, 

A deserted, desolate mining claim. 



84 



PROSPERITY 

He built a cabin beneath the hill, 

Facing the west where the sun went down ; 
He worked with a steadfast, joyful will, 

While the leaves were sere and the earth was b 
He worked as a miner has need to do, 
Who has made up his mind to work for two. 

There in the spring he brought his bride, 
Loving and fair-faced, brave and young, 

When the birds sung sweet on the mountain side, 
And the gentians blue in the valley sprung ; 

While brighter than western sunshine shone 

The light of love in that tiny home. 

His strong brown hands, day after day, 

Labored and ever stronger grew ; 
While, in a womanly, winsome way, 

Her small hands ever were busy, too ; 
And lovers still when the day was o'er, 
They laughed and talked by the open door. 



85 



PROSPERITY 

Bright rugs she knit for her rough-hewn floor, 
And ruffles white at the windows hung ; 

She made the most of their scanty store, 
Deftly and sweetly she wrought and sung ; 

While the birds and the bees peeped in to see 

What caused such brightness and melody. 

Time sped in his long accustomed way, 
And the seasons hand in hand passed by, 

Till the news flew through the camp one day, 
"They have struck it rich in the Firefly"; 

And the miner carried home with joy, 

The news to his wife and baby boy. 

" Dear heart," he cried, " it has come at last ; 

I have waited long for this golden day, 
Our labor and poverty now are past, 

We will sell the mine and go away ; 
And every happiness under the sun 
I'll procure for you and the little one." 

He sold the mine and they went away, 

From the little home on the hillside brown; 

You can see them almost any day, 

As they come and go in the busy town ; 

But if wealth has doubled their happiness 

There's no surface sign of its sweet success. 



86 



PROSPERITY 

They have now a town and a country place, 
She's a woman of fashion and rich display, 

With no lines of mirth on her careworn face 
As she rides alone in her fine coupe ; 

And scandal is busy with the fame 

Of him whom it once dared never name. 

And the world looks on and sighs, " Ah me, 
How favored indeed some people seem ; 

They rise in a moment from poverty 

To the highest flight of their fairest dream ; 

But it is not the fortune of all to be 

So smiled upon by prosperity." 



8 7 



IN HIS NAME 

LEADVJLLE, I 887 

For three days it had snowed, and the mantle of white 
Hid everything deeper and deeper from sight, 
And the wind, as it blustered so bitter and cold, 
Wreathed the edge of each snow-drift with feathery fold. 
From a miner's rude cabin, a woman's fond eyes 
Gazed wistfully out on the grey, threatening skies. 
For two days had she waited, distracted by fear, 
For the coming of him whom her heart held most dear. 
Where was he ? What evil had caused this delay ? 
What harm had befallen his steps by the way ? 
She was helpless — her baby lay there in its bed, 
And how could she leave it, the mother heart said. 
Then the feeling of wifehood arose in its power, 
Saying, " Hasten, your husband may need you this hour ; 
May be lost in the snow, may be dying, or dead, 
When perhaps you could save him," the warning voice 

said. 
Kneeling down by the cradle, she breathed one swift prayer, 
Resigning her babe and herself to His care 
Who sees even the sparrow — then with face set and white, 
Out into the snow and the gathering night. 
Up, up on the mountain side, struggling on, 
Where the snow lay unbroken her path must be won ; 



88 



IN HIS NAME 

And the merciless wind — how it buffets and sighs 

And sifts the sharp snow in her strained, anxious eyes ! 

Darker yet, deeper still drifts the snow round her feet ; 

How helpless she feels in the night and the sleet ! 

Must she fail and turn back ere her strength is quite gone, 

And retrace, while she may, what her frail strength has 

won ? 
Now she pauses, she falters — What was that? Did she hear 
A low, feeble call ? There must some one be near — 
From whence did it come ? There is nothing in sight. 
Ah, yes ! Further up on the hill to her right 
There's a spot in the snow — 'tis the mouth of a shaft, 
Deserted and thus without covering left. 
With new hope in her heart, that yet struggles with fear, 
On her hands and her knees to the shaft she draws near ; 
Then she calls, — holds her breath lest she miss some faint 

cry,— 
Listens long, — calls again, — still there comes no reply. 
" Herbert ! Herbert !" she cries, " are you there, husband 

dear ?" 
And the faintest reply at last blesses her ear : 
" Yes, yes ; but so helpless my strength is all gone, 
And I surely must die here if you are alone." 
Let the storm rage, she heeds not ; a woman, indeed ! 
The might of a giant she feels in her need — 
Strips the shawl from her head, tears it up with her 

strength, 
It is woollen, and double, and length upon length 
She knots fast. Will it reach him ? She ties it around 
The end of a stump that projects from the ground 
Through the snow, and she calls, " Herbert, here is a rope, 



89 



IN HIS NAME 

'Tis the best that I have, 'tis our one, only hope ; 

Try to climb to the top, I will help you, my dear. 

Be strong ! God is with us ; He guided me here." 

It has reached him, it sways with a weight not its own, 

She has done what she can and she waits there alone; 

He is coming, she leans o'er the brink in the dark 

And whispers, " I'm waiting to help you, take heart ! 

Hold fast ; It is only a little way now, 

I would help you still more if I only knew how." 

Thank God ! Her strong arms draw him to her at last, 

And he falls by her side, and the danger is past. 

Weak, helpless, those two on the mountain alone 

In the dark, but the wind has died down to a moan 

And the bright stars shine out from their homes in the skies, 

And reflect their cold light in two radiant eyes. 

He is safe ! What to her is their own lack of gold ? 

What to her is the wealth of the mountain untold ? 

She has rescued from death what to her has more worth 

Than all of the wealth of the mines upon earth ; 

And with more thankful hearts than they ever have known, 

They make their way down to their own humble home. 



QO 



THE ROBINS 

LEADVILLE 

THERE'S no sign of spring verdure, 

To cheer longing eyes ; 
There is only a softened 

Warm hue to the skies : 
While the mountains less snowy appear, 
And our hearts would still fear 
That the spring was not here — 

But the robins have come ! 

Why they seek mountain peaks, 

Grey with rock, cold with snow, 
Instead of the clover clad 

Meadows below, 
Or the fields where sweet apple-trees bloom, 
Where fresh budding greenness is breathing perfume, 
No one knows ; but each heart has a welcome in tune, — 

For the robins have come ! 

Up the side of the mountain, 

I listen to hear 
His dear, welcome voice, 

Piping gladsome and clear ; 
And he sings to my heart, "Lo, the winter is past, 
Be content, be content, where your lot may be cast, 
Make the most of your blessings, while blessings shall last 

To help you I've come." 

And the robins are here ! 



9 1 



CAMPING OUT 

ESTES PARK, I 887 

Oh I've had such a jolly time, 

I scarce can write it down ! 
Have been off on a camping trip 

And just got back to town ; — 
And for the sake of those poor souls 

Who had at home to stay, 
I'll give you the experience 

Of one who's been away. 

Camping on the mountain, 

Camping on the plain, 
In the broiling sunshine, 

In the pouring rain ; 
With the gay mosquito 

And festive ants and flies, 
Where pleasure, like the wood-tick, 

Never, never dies. 

Where the sand and wind-storms 

And other joys you meet 
Make you for the moment 

Quite forget the heat. 
You live on ham or bacon, 

With biscuit piping hot ; 
Or, if these rations fail you, 

Why, you live on what you've got. 



9^ 




" You sit about the camp-fire 
And hear weird stories told." 



CAMPING OUT 

You think of daily papers, 

And fruit and things you've seen ; 
And wonder if again on earth 

You ever can be clean. 
Dirt sifts on your person, 

It gathers on your clothes, 
And gently spreads from ear to ear 

Across your sunburnt nose. 

You sit about the camp-fire 

And hear weird stories told ; 
You sing into the "wee sma"' hours 

And catch your death of cold. 
And then upon the pine branches 

In your pretty tent so white, 
You try to sleep in blankets moist 

For the balance of the night. 

The coyotes cry, but what of that ? 

You strive to still your fears, 
While the night grows cold and colder 

And the bugs creep in your ears. 
You might feel quite unhappy, 

Sometimes, without a doubt ; 
Unless constantly assured, 

" It's so nice, this camping out !" 



93 



CAMPING OUT 

You feel you've been out camping 

For ages, so to speak, 
When, by the trusty almanac, 

It's only just a week. 
There's lots of fun in camping — 

You scorn the things you lack ; 
But oh, the greatest fun of all 

Consists in coming back ! 



94 



COMPENSATION 

IN a brilliant blaze of amber 

The sun has sunk to rest, 
Leaving but a golden glow 

On the highest mountain crest ; 
And the shadows of evening find their way 
Where pick and shovel have rung all day. 

There's an odor of pine and spruce 

Upon the snow-cooled breeze, 
That wanders down through the canon 

And flutters the aspen leaves ; 
There's a twitter of birds and a coyote's cry, 
When stars shine out in the darkening sky. 

Down from his work comes the miner 

To his lowly cabin home, 
Weary with all the labor 

His sturdy strength has known ; 
Tired and slow at the close of day, 
Miner and burro wend their way. 

The world seems filled with labor, 

With toil and endless care, 
That come like the rain from heaven, 

And each must take his share ; 
Now, after his daily work is done 
The weary miner comes slowly home. 



95 



COMPENSATION 

There's a gleam of light in the darkness 

As the door is open thrown, 
And children and wife come out to meet 

And welcome the dear one home ; 
With laughter and loving words, once more 
They lead him in at the cabin door. 

How he prizes that little circle 
With its wealth of homely joy ; 

It strengthens heart and brain and hand 
For another day's employ, 

No sweeter rest in the world is known 

Than that in the miner's humble home. 

The heart is full of thankfulness 

When all things go to prove 
That the world, though full of labor, 

Contains so much of love ; 
Like the rain and sun, it is everywhere, 
And all things living can have their share. 



9 6 



ULTIMA THULE 

AS we climb the rugged mountain 

And a moment pause to rest, 
With the weariness of climbing 

And the sun's fierce heat oppressed, 
Misty, cool and purple seeming 

Are the peaks which rise beyond, 
With the snow upon them gleaming 

just a little ikrther on. 

Up the canon bloom wild roses, 

In rich, fragrant beauty shown. 
Every onward step discloses 

Some fresh loveliness unknown. 
Yet in all this massed completeness 

That the pleased eyes rest upon, 
Those we covet for their sweetness 

Are a little farther on. 

Thus the sculptor with new treasure 

In the marble block unseen, 
And the poet with his measure, 

And the artist with his theme, 
Strive with patience and persistence 

Toward the summit to be won, 
That seems ever in the distance — 

Just a little farther on. 



97 



ULTIMA THULE 

Ah, the wistful eyes must slumber, 

While the busy hands have rest, 
And ambitions without number 

Sleep within a pulseless breast, 
Ere the veil that hides fruition, 

With its haven surely won, 
Parts before our waiting vision, 

Just a little further on. 



9 8 



AT TOMICHI 

YES, this is the spot where they fought for the claim, 

Those miners, determined and strong ; 
Up the steep rock side of the canon they came, 

To settle the right and the wrong ; 
And the emblems of justice shone bright in the sun — 
Of stern Western justice — the pistol and gun. 

Clear the mountain tops shone ©n the pale wintry sky, 

And the snow drifted fleecy and cold : 
It is naught to the miner what season is by 

While he suffers and toils after gold, 
And chases the phantom, delusive and bright, 
Of fortune which ever recedes from his sight. 

Stern eyes looking up and stern eyes looking down 
From the prospecting site they both claim ; 

There's "possession or death" in each face, set and brown, 
In that moment before the shock came. 

Then a flash, an explosion, a deep stifled groan, 

And a miner had gone o'er the snowy range, home. 

Yes, this is the spot where, so quiet to-day, 

A small pretty bird has her home ; 
There is never a sign of that dreadful affray, 

And the bird holds possession alone. 
She has no fear or doubt in her innocent breast, 
As she looks at us brightly and broods in her nest. 



99 



SOME ONE'S SERVANT GIRL 

SHE stood there leaning wearily 

Against the window frame ; 
Her face was patient, sad, and sweet, 

Her garments coarse and plain ; 
" Who is she, pray?" I asked a friend, 

The red lips gave a curl, 
" Really, I do not know her name ; 

She's some one's servant girl." 

Again, I saw her on the street 

With burden trudge along; 
Her face was sweet, and patient still, 

Amid the jostling throng, 
Slowly, but cheerfully, she moved, 

Guarding with watchful care 
A market-basket much too large 

For her slight hands to bear. 

A man, — I'd thought a gentleman — 

Went pushing rudely by, 
Sweeping the basket from her hands, 

But turning not his eye ; 
For there was no necessity, 

Amid that busy whirl, 
For him to be a gentleman — 

To some one's servant girl. 



ioo 



SOME ONE S SERVANT GIRL 

Ah, well it is, that God above 

Looks in upon the heart, 
And never judges any one 

By just the outer part ; 
For if the soul be pure and good, 

He will not mind the rest, 
Nor question what the garments are 

In which the form is dressed. 

And many a man and woman fair, 

By fortune reared and fed, 
Who will not mingle here below 

With those who earn their bread, 
W T hen they have passed away from life, 

Beyond the gates of pearl, 
Will meet before their Father's throne 

With many a servant girl. 



101 



ABSENCE 

" I haven't the time to write to-day 
As I really could wish to do, 

But read between the lines with care ; 

Whatever you wish, you can find it there. 
I am busy, so I can only say 
I am well — write soon — adieu ! " 

' Tis so hard to read between the lines 

In this wearisome world of ours, 
The eyes grow dim with unshed tears, 
The heart is heavy with doubts and fears, 
And we cannot see to read at times 
As we might in brighter hours. 

Then write it out what you have to say 

To mother, or sweetheart, or wife, 
Only a few short lines, 'tis true, 
Not much labor or time for you, 
But unto the loved ones far away 
It may be the sunshine of life. 

Then tell them how often and lovingly 

You think of the bygone times ; 
Tell them — if far from them — you miss 
The morning smile and the evening kiss, 
Nor leave them to look in a wistful way 
For kind words between the lines. 



102 



WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY 

NOT BY JOHN G. SAXE 

WHEN do I mean to marry? Well, 
If you would really like to hear, 

I do not know that I can tell 

The very day, or month, or year. 

'Twill be when I a man have met 
Who of ambition has no lack, 

Who ne'er was known to gamble yet, 
Or drive fast horses on the track ; 

Who never comes home late at night 
From drinking with the men in town, 

And cannot *get the latch key right, 

Because the house stands upside down •, 

Who never goes into a store 

And suits himself the best he can, 

Then, when he's traded less or more, 

Says, " Have it charged to the old man." 

Now when I meet this good, true man, 
Who's not ashamed to earn his bread, 

Who early in his life began 

The honest, upright road to tread ; 

If he would like a helping hand 

Gladly to work with him through life, 

If he would like me as I am, 
I'll be his cheerful, loving wife. 



103 



NEVER MIND 

I have a few words for my friends — 

I do not mean the rich and gay — 
And you who are thus worldly blest 

Don't list to what I have to say. 
If you be one who has few friends, 

To whom the world has been unkind, 
I wish to whisper in your year, 

Be good and true, and never mind. 

[f nature has not given you 

Beauty of feature, form, or face ; 
If feet and hands are both untaught, 

And you have neither wit nor grace ; 
If you are plain and poorly clad, 

And little worldly favor find, 
Iveep a pure heart within your breast, 

Work patiently, and never mind. 

If thoughts too beautiful for words 

Come to you in your leisure hours — 
Thoughts that you never can express 

Brought to you by the birds and flowers ; 
Although the world may never know 

The beautv in your soul confined, 
Do all the good which you can do, 

Perform your part, and never mind. 



04 



NEVER MIND 

We do not know the reason why 

Earth was not all of beauty made, 
Nor why the sunshine bright and fair 

Is ever hid by storm and shade ; 
We only know that so it is — 

That so it was at first designed ; 
We'll cheerful and contented be, 

And trust in God, and never mind. 



105 



MY AUTOGRAPH 

MAY God's dear love go with you, 
Through the sunshine and the rain, 

To intensify your happiness, 
And soften all your pain. 

I can wish you nothing better, 

Than this refuge which shall stand, 

II The shadow of a mighty rock 

Within a weary land." 



106 



THERE'S A WAY 

IS there something in your heart 
You would really wish to do ; 

A great purpose to perform, 

Something noble, good and true ? 

Though the way seem very dark, 
Work with patience day by day ; 

If you have a will at heart — 

There's a way. 

There's a seed within the ground, 
In a hard and gloomy shell ; 

It would be a climbing vine 
In the sunlight it would dwell, 

And with purpose firm and true 
Waits in patience day by day ; 

By and by the shell will burst — 

There's a way. 

God will send the sun and rain 
To the heart and to the seed ; 

Waiting will not be in vain, 
Patient faith is what we need. 

There are many things to do 
As we journey day by day ; 

Each perfected work will prove 

There's a way. 



107 



WATER LILIES 

WHERE the tree-tops bend and meet, 
Casting shadows at their feet, 
Mottled sunlight falling through, 
Kissed by zephyrs, bathed in dew, 
Floating idly on the stream 
In a happy summer dream, 
Starry eyes and breasts of snow, 
Perfumed water lilies grow. 

All untouched by worldly art 
Are the lilies like the heart ; 
Only thriving as they should, 
In their native solitude ; 
Growing ever purest where 
Teaching comes from earth and air ; 
Blessings unperverted keep 
Water lilies pure and sweet. 

Oh, ye blossoms pale and fair ! 
On my bosom, in my hair 
I have placed ye lovingly ; 
Praying that my heart may be 
Something like your breasts of snow, 
That my eyes may have your glow, 
That my soul be pure and fair 
As ye water lilies are. 



j 08 



THE SUNNY SIDE 

CRIMSON and amber, purple and pink, 
Mingle their hues where the sun doth sink, 

Earth hath a glory rare ! 
The tints on the waters reflected lie, 
The trees are in outline against the sky, 

Beauty is everywhere ! 
Then open thine eyes that thou mayest see 
Some of the beauty God giveth thee. 

List to the song of the happy birds ! 
List to the murmur of kindly words ! — 

Voices in earth and air ; 
The waters babble in merry glee, 
A song comes up from the humble bee ; 

There is music everywhere ! 
Then open thine ears that thou mayest hear, 
The hymn of the universe, sweet and clear. 

Be not then of a sorrowful face, 
Cheerfully, manfully, take thy place, 

Whatever ill betide. 
Think not that labor is all that be 
Under the heavens in store for thee, 

Look on the sunny side ! 
Open thine heart and thou shalt share, 
Bountiful blessings everywhere ; 
And God, who sendeth the sun and rain, 
Will see that thv life is not in vain. 



109 



FRUITION DAY 

HAVE you some wish within your heart, 
Some steadfast, prayerful, sweet desire, 

Some aspiration which can move 
And thrill you with its hidden fire ? 

Hope on, poor soul, as best you may, 

You ne'er will see fruition day. 

Blooms there a flower of sweet perfume 
Which, once your own amid the strife, 

Would give you strength, and with its bloom 
Would sweeten all your coming life ? 

Work on, hope on, yet hear me say, 

You ne'er will see fruition day. 

Rests there a pearl of purest light 

That you would rescue from the brine ? 

Dive often down to ocean's depth, 

Strive for it — would'st thou claim it thine ? 

Work manfully as best you may, 

You ne'er will see fruition day. 

Grows there a field where tender green 
Gives promise of fair golden maize ? 

Rests there upon those tiny shoots 
Rich promise for the coming days ? 

Trust on, hope on — aye, hope and pray 

You ne'er will see fruition day. 



no 



FRUITION DAY 

'Tis well, I know, that we should trust, 
And well that faith and hope are given ; 

'Tis blessed that they cheer us on 

From hour to hour, this side of heaven ; 

But ne'er, except in heaven's ray, 

Shall we behold fruition day. 

God knoweth best ; we can but say, 
" Thy will be done ! Thy will be done 

And hope and trust, and watch and pray, 
Until this earthly course is run, 

Till bursts at last the perfect ray 

Of glorious, bright fruition day. 



in 



HOMELY CHEER 

LAUGH if your spirits are joyous, 

Sing if your heart should be gay ; 
God's is the unknown to-morrow, 

Ours is the smiling to-dav. 
Speak, if your thought is of kindness, 

Leave not the good word unsaid ; 
Rich you shall be in the giving, 

Others will come in its stead. 

Give a hand, firmly and kindlv, 

Help whom you can on their way, 
Hands will grow strong by assisting, 

Yet weak if inactive they lay. 
Work, though the task may be homely 

Do with a will what you can, 
Knowing each duty perfected 

Assists in the infinite plan. 

Only one note in the music 

Seems but a trifle at best, 
Yet if 'tis lost or imperfect, 

Injury falls to the rest. 
Not all can choose on their journey 

Just what their life-work shall be, 
But humble, or high, it is given 

Bv One who is wiser than we. 



I i 2 



HOMELY CHEER 

Therefore, while traveling onward, 

Doing what good we may do, 
Feeling contented and thankful, 

Praying for strength ever new ; 
We'll laugh if our spirits are joyous, 

Sing, if our hearts may be gay ; 
God's is the unknown to-morrow, 

Ours is the smiling to-dav. 



"3 



SUNSHINE 

SO little does it take to make one glad, 
A loving word, and however sad 

The world appeared when it was spoken, 
The heart is light again, the spell is broken, 

Sunshine can vanish never. 

So little does it take to make one sad, 
Some thoughtless act, and however glad 

The sun had shone, it fades away, 

And clouds and rain drops hold their sway, 

The sun has set forever. 

Since trifles then make up the sum 
Of weal, or woe, when all is done — 

Why sigh for wealth, long life or fame, 
If we can only sunshine claim, 

Love's kindly sunshine ever. 



"4 



THE FIREMAN 

HE had called, and in the parlor 

He was sitting, Sunday night, 
Without 'twas very cold and damp, 

Within 'twas warm and bright ; 
He sat beside his sweetheart, 

(Don't vou wish you knew his name ?) 
And vowed he did not care a fig, 

If Monday never came. 

Oh, her mouth was redder, sweeter 

Than the strawberries we buy, 
Which are sent from San Francisco, 

And this time of year are high. 
She wore the cutest slippers, 

And her waist was trim and small — 
Just the prettiest girl in Denver, 

And I think that says it all. 

He was thinking of the comforts 

Of a cosv wedded life, 
And had wished that moment in his heart 

That — someone was his wife ; 
(I had nearly said her name right out, 

And that I must not tell) — 
When, worse than Gabriel's dreaded blast, 

There clanged the fire-bell. 



115 



THE FIREMAN 

"To go or not to go " was now 

The question, do you see ? 
He knew that all the other boys 

Were out as well as he ; 
And so this gallant fireman 

He did his duty well — 
But as he rushed along the street 

He muttered, " D — n that bell ! : 



iih 



TRIFLES 

ONLY a leaf, which carelessly 

A strong hand broke from the maple tree — 
Aimlessly broke, and cast away 

To die in the dust, one summer day. 

Only a violet, simply dressed 

With a drop of dew on her purple vest, 
Frail and sweet in her dainty suit, 

Crushed to death by a passing foot. 

Only a bird, which would never sing — 
A bird with a broken, scarlet wing — 

Over whose heart was an ugly spot 

Where life came through, from a careless shot. 

Only a wistful feeling stirred 

In the heart to utter a loving word ; 

Only a timid, sweet advance, 

Crushed bv a cold, unfeeling glance. 

Only the down brushed from the peach ; 

Only a jesting, thoughtless speech ; 
Trifles indeed, but weigh them well, 

For their power for misery none can tell. 

Then, oh, to be careful in all we do — 
Wise and thoughtful, and kind and true; 

Lest some evil we counted a trifle may 

The great, good works of our lives outweigh. 



117 



HOME 

OH, after wandering 

East and West, 
How sweet on one's 

Home bough to rest ! 
Go view the world 

In pleasant weather, 
Then take what comes 

At home together. 
And is it rain, 

Or is it shine, 
The light of home 

Makes it divine. 



jj8 



UEG Li 



V&t/u 




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